The first time I met Mino, he looked at me like he already knew all my secrets. His golden-brown eyes shimmered through the trees of Angkor Wat, and his tiny hands clutched a stolen banana he clearly believed was his by divine right.
He tilted his head, smirked—yes, monkeys can smirk—and I knew this wouldn’t be a normal encounter. He was a furbacchione, a little trickster, a jungle genius.
I’d spent days wandering through the Cambodian forest, documenting wildlife. But Mino? He was more than a subject. He was a mirror. Every time I tried to offer food, he found a way to take double. Every time I hid the camera, he somehow found it, tapping the lens as if to say: “You think you’re smarter than me?”
Then came the morning of our silent battle.
I placed a piece of banana under a fallen leaf, half-hidden by a rock. My plan was flawless. Or so I thought.
As I watched from a distance, Mino approached slowly, sniffing the air. He didn’t go for the bait. Instead, he turned, grabbed a stick, and used it to lift the leaf—just enough to pull the banana out without touching the trap I’d set.
He looked straight into my lens after that. His expression said it all: Nice try, human.
But in that moment, I didn’t feel outsmarted. I felt connected. Somewhere between laughter and humility, I realized how alive, how aware this forest was. Mino wasn’t just clever—he was teaching me patience, observation, and maybe even forgiveness.
That afternoon, as the golden light filtered through ancient trees, I sat down near the roots of an Angkor fig. Mino came closer. No tricks. No rivalry. Just quiet.
He reached out, touched my hand, and shared the piece of banana he’d just stolen—no, earned.
And in that moment, it didn’t matter who was smarter. What mattered was the unspoken truth between us: that life isn’t about winning little games, but finding moments of trust, even in the most unexpected hearts.
When I left the forest, Mino followed for a few steps, then stopped and climbed back into the canopy. His silhouette lingered there, half-light, half-shadow—just enough mystery to make me smile.
And every time I think of that day, I remember his clever eyes saying:
“You thought you could outsmart me… but maybe I was just teaching you how to love.”
